to those who see with their hearts

Tell me why you're so quick to assume the worst and so unsure on the certain. Tell me why you hold back and cloud yourself in a box of stranger things than believing that the unknown is known.

I'm okay. I'm happy. I'm one. I'm okay. I'm happy. I'm one. I'm okay. I'm one. I'm okay. I'm happy.

I'm not one. I'd say. There's no mark on my head I say and I don't stand tall on flat surfaces. I'm not one but I'm two. A half of one with no half. And with no half I'm a zero. An eight to the game.

You took one for granted.

I write to absolve. I write to make it end.

And then some distant moans creep in from a nearby crow. You fall. Hear the flapping wings of the distant crow. You wake.

Forever and always.

Poem, if you want one

Why do you cry and not sob? Why do you love and not love? Why do you stop and not stare? Why do you help and not help? Why is too much never enough and why is enough never too much.

Heaven?

There's a dream out there with a vast spectrum of disorders. Never in a rush. Always on the run. Never waiting. Always accepting. Never changing. Always retaining. Never in vain. Always in pain but never the same. Ridding the world of worries and the soul of mournings, that is where they start and that is where it ends.